


The Way Things Fall Apart

by pippen2112



Series: The Way Things Go [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, John Sheppard Whump, M/M, Major Character Death: Cameron Mitchell, Sub John Sheppard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries to hold himself together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Things Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> This fic/series came about because my mind likes to do horrible things to John Sheppard, and because not enough bad things have happened to him yet. While this one isn't too horrible, future installments will get worse. Much worse.

"Hey, Sheppard," Ronon says from the doorway of his office, "you missed sparring."

 

John jolts alert at the sound of Ronon's voice. His fingers come away from his collar. He sits straighter in his chair, reacting instinctively to the presence of another sub. Rubbing his eyes, John checks his watch and sighs. Looks like he zoned out for almost an hour, during which he should have been catching up on paper work.

 

"Sorry, buddy," John says.

 

Ronon cocks his head, crosses his arms, and leans farther into the room. The buckles on his wrist cuff glint in the fading light. "You okay?"

 

"I'm fine," John replies, punctuating it with his usual unamused smirk. "Just haven't been sleeping well."

 

It's not a complete lie. He hasn't been sleeping, period, not since Carter took control of Atlantis and dropped a bomb into the wreckage of his personal life. Not that anyone could tell. If he was working his team a little harder than normal, everyone assumed he was trying to impress the expedition's new commander, not distract himself from the truth.

 

"That's what Teyla said," Ronon continued. "She and McKay are worried about you."

 

"Teyla and McKay have better things to worry about than me."

 

Ronon shrugs. "Someone's got to. Your dom's not."

 

If John winces reflexively, Ronon doesn't draw attention to it. Truth is, Ronon's right. John's dom should be taking better care of him, but maintaining a relationship is hard when a) his dom is stationed in another galaxy and b) his dom isn't... John swallows and pushes the thought to the back of his mind, behind the wall he doesn't dare breach.

 

"You still finishing up?" Ronon asks, eyeing the pile of paperwork.

 

John looks down at the files and nods. "Guess this is what I get for nodding off on the job."

 

Ronon shrugs. "See you in the morning then. Get some sleep."

 

With Ronon gone from his doorway, John fall back in his chair. His fingers subconsciously trace along the simple leather collar. Cam used to tease him for having such an obvious nervous tick. When he was still stationed planet side, whenever his mind would start spinning too quickly, he'd fiddle with the ring until Cam caught him. _"Come on, Shep. Let's get you out of your head."_ Even if the sex had been just a shade too gentle since he and Cam shacked up after his divorce, he'd still get lost in the warm, sweet feeling of _yes please more,_ and Cam would always oblige.

 

Not anymore.

 

John blink away the tear-stained memories. Exhaustion hangs on his shoulders, weighing him down like too much g-force. Since he found out about Cam, he's been running double the missions to keep his mind occupied. Every time he slows down, the ache in his chest throbs again, and he remembers that he's never gonna see his mate's smile again. He's never gonna hear Cam's drawl when he's tired or horny or in a particularly sunny mood. One day soon, Cam's mark is gonna fade from the back of his neck, and then Cam's smell is gonna wear out of all the t-shirts in his closet, and then Cam's just gonna be another person he never got to say goodbye to.

 

"Colonel?"

 

He flinches at the sudden voice. He looks up to find Lorne standing on the other side of his desk. The major's holding his computer under one arm, the opposite hand extended cautiously. John smells control radiating from him. It raises an instinctual warmth at the base of his spine and makes his gut twinge guiltily. Not even two weeks have passed and he's already getting hot at another dom's scent, a smell that is warm and woodsy and decidedly not Cam's wheat and cinnamon comfort. When Lorne touches his shoulder, it takes every ounce of John's self-control for him not to press up into the warm weight.

 

"Can I help you, Major?"

 

"You don't look so good, sir."

 

"So they keep telling me," John says blandly.

 

Lorne's brow furrows. "Should I call for Dr. Keller?"

 

John shakes his head. "No, just need to get some shut eye. It's been a rough couple of weeks."

 

Lorne inclines his head. John sees his eyes tighten warily, feels his hand tense. For all his pleasant attitude, Lorne's got an emotional range that most people overlook. It's one of the things John likes most about the man. Hell, if he didn't have the whole chain of command conflict to worry about and Cam's mark on his shoulder, he'd consider thinking of Lorne as Evan and start wondering if he prefers male or female subs. But that's not the way things are, so John pushes that thought behind his mental blockade as well.

 

"Yeah," Lorne says quietly, patting John's shoulder once before letting go, "I heard about Colonel Mitchell."

 

John know his wide eyes betray his surprise. Usually, he's got a better poker face than this, but the last few weeks have put him through the wringer. So if he hears Lorne's implied _"I'm sorry for your loss"_ John doesn't ask how Lorne found out, doesn't ask him not to advertise it, doesn't mention the unspoken words. He only nods. "He was a good soldier."

 

Lorne nods and gives a small, sad smile as he hands John his computer with a quick word about requisition orders needing John's signature. John resolutely ignores the warmth rising in his gut from the smile and signs where Lorne points. And when Lorne leaves with a brief goodnight, John takes a few deep breaths of clean air to clear his head. It only helps bed down his arousal, not his guilt.

 

So John keeps working until the pain and turmoil are reduced to dull sensations at the back of his mind, until he passes out at his desk and wakes with blurry vision and his fingers curled around the ring of his collar, because he knows as soon as his mark fades, he's gonna have to turn the collar in to Carter. And then the doms of Atlantis will know there's another uncollared sub wandering the halls, ready to be claimed. Because most doms, especially the ones the military appeals to, aren't cut from the same cloth Cam came from. And for every ten doms he's earned the respect of, there's always one with a bone to pick with the sub who made lieutenant colonel.  Sadly, you don't survive as long as John has without making a few enemies. The thought makes his stomach churn.

 

He doesn't think he'll be able to stomach that conversation. Or the flurry of unruly, incorrigible suitors that will likely follow. So he keeps on hoping for one more day. Even if it's only fighting the inevitable.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I have a vague outline of where this series will go, but I'm more than open to suggestions!


End file.
